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February 15, 2009 by Susan Hansell.
One wintery moonless Tucson night, at the gravel driveway, a coyote flashed in the cold-white headlights, almost cardboard-cutout-y, looking bored, body following its head, down a few steps into the wash, waiting for those humans to disappear, through the automatic doors of their oil-heated and scrubbed adobe abode.
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